


Sleep, Baby, Sleep

by Caprichoso



Series: A Gentle Touch and a Foolish Love [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Nonbinary Kurapika, Other, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprichoso/pseuds/Caprichoso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leorio has treated his share of life-or-death injuries. Still, there's a difference between treating a run-of-the-mill patient and saving your best friend-- and possibly more-- as they're bleeding out in your arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep, Baby, Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Kurapika is my latest massive crush. Therefore, in the tradition I’ve been following since I was old enough to act out Disney movies in my footie pajamas, I have to make my new baby suffer.
> 
> Inspired by the song "Sleep Baby Sleep" by the Broods.
> 
> Note: my headcanons for Kurapika’s gender identity fluctuate wildly, but keep in mind this piece is from Leorio’s point of view.

Leorio is in training to become a doctor, a medical professional. Getting blood on his hands is as mundane a part of his workday as shaking a cocktail to a bartender. Hell, long before the Hunter Exam was even a remote possibility, he’d performed his fair share of impromptu vivisections, though his “patients” had been criminals looking to part him from his wallet– or more. After just the first few, he hadn’t ended up leaving his dinner beside their bodies, and by the time he was ready to leave his hometown, the sight and smell of blood hadn’t fazed him for years.

This time should be no different, he rationalizes, yet the fuzzy roar in Leorio’s ears tells him just how wrong he is.

Nothing has ever been the same where Kurapika is concerned.

There’s something confounding about the Kurta that Leorio can’t put his finger on; from the day they met, the blond has been able to get under his skin in a way that no one else ever has, without even trying. It’s frustrating as hell, bordering on shameful, that Leorio never seems to be able to ruffle his companion’s feathers in the same way. Most of the time, if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t mind being at a disadvantage in their relationship. It’s Kurapika, and Kurapika has always been the exception.

Now, though, as he fights the pressure constricting his lungs, the tears blurring his vision when he most desperately needs to see, he curses his friend for being so damn special. Leorio can deal with blood on his hands, but not this time.

Not when the blood is Kurapika’s.

The blond groans and stirs, eyes clouded with insurmountable pain. He can’t focus, can’t use Nen, can’t heal himself even if his eyes turn scarlet. A labored breath draws far too little air, and he arches off the ground, fruitless gasps coming from a wide-open mouth.

With a curse, Leorio brings his hands back to Kurapika’s chest, but instead of applying pressure, he begins undoing the elaborate buttons on the silk garment. Small, delicate hands cover large, rough ones, trying in vain to push them away. “Don’t,” Kurapika gasps, and another spasm wracks his body. “Please… don’t…”

“Dammit, Kurapika, your lung is collapsing!” Leorio growls, batting his friend’s hands away. “This is no time to be a prude! I need to get your shirt off and close the wound!”

“Please,” the Kurta repeats, eyes pleading, tinges of a scarlet glow appearing even as his face continues to turn a sickly blue.

A frustrated growl tears its way from the lanky man’s throat, but he halts for a second. “Please what?”

“Don’t… hate me.” Tears slide down Kurapika’s cheeks, and he swallows hard. His feeble attempts to breathe grow even weaker, and his hands fall to his sides, then his eyes flutter closed.

_Tachycardia’s starting. He’ll be dead in minutes. No time to think about what he meant by that._

Cursing, Leorio rummages through his briefcase, each fraction of a second feeling like an hour. It’s wasted time, time Kurapika doesn’t have. Shears, petroleum jelly, gauze, plastic, tape, a syringe– Leorio places the items on the ground beside himself, checking quickly to be sure the needle’s cap is still in place. He seizes the medical shears, slicing through both robe and undershirt in one swift motion. Pushing them aside, his eyes widen as he’s greeted with an unexpected sight– a sea of elastic bandages.

“Dammit, Kurapika,” Leorio repeats, puzzle pieces coming together in his mind. Without another moment’s hesitation, though, he chops through these bandages as well, shoving them aside to expose the gaping hole in Kurapika’s chest. He hurriedly mops up as much blood as he can from the area directly surrounding the wound, then places a gauze pad slathered in petroleum jelly over the hole. Atop this, he applies the plastic, pressing down and praying it will stay put for just a few seconds.

Trembling fingers fumble with the tape, finding the beginning of the roll and yanking hard. He tears the strips with his teeth; no time for precision. Something slips, and a sickening  _chip_  sends a chill down his spine; he spits the tiny sliver of tooth on the ground and keeps going.

Tape in hand, Leorio secures the field dressing over the wound, then closes his eyes and brings his senses into focus. Harnessing his Nen, he taps his fingers on his friend’s chest to palpate the area, scanning deep inside Kurapika’s body with ultrasound waves. As he suspected, the lung is still collapsed– tension pneumothorax.

Leorio’s hand goes to the syringe, and he removes the cap, cursing the tremor in his hands that has become more than just an annoyance. A needle decompression is dangerous, and needs to be precise. If he can’t get himself under control, he won’t be able to penetrate the chest in the correct place.

_Come on, Leorio_ , he berates himself internally.  _This is your job. Do your job. That’s all this is._

He brings the needle to bear above Kurapika’s chest, but his traitorous hands refuse to cooperate. His companion is suffocating, and he can’t pull himself together enough to complete this simple task. Bitter tears filled with self-loathing stream down lean cheeks, and a strangled sob catches in his throat. “Why can’t I do my job?” he chokes out between gritted teeth.

In that moment, though, Leorio is struck with an epiphany. This should just be his job, but it’s not. This should be simple, but it’s not. Because this is the exception; always has been. This is Kurapika.

And even if he can’t do his job, no matter what it takes, he  _will_  save Kurapika.

With a deep breath, Leorio centers himself and positions the needle just above the rib. As it slides through skin and muscle and tissue that resists its passage, he uses his Nen once again to monitor the needle’s downward progress. Just a bit further, and he’s in the chest cavity. Pulling the plunger smoothly but quickly from the syringe, Leorio is rewarded with a puff of air, signaling that decompression has begun, and a louder puff escapes from the physician’s mouth. He’s done it. Kurapika will survive, and should regain consciousness shortly. One-handed, careful not to drop the needle further, he tears more tape and bunches it around the needle to keep it from plunging in and nicking the lung. Another few strips of tape secure the apparatus in place, and then his work is done.

A fresh round of tears leak from his eyes, and this time he lets himself succumb to them. Instinct brings him scooting toward his companion, and he sits cross-legged, pulling Kurapika’s head into his lap, where he can reassure himself with a touch that the one he holds dearest is safe. Part of him worries at the repercussions if the blond wakes up to find his head in Leorio’s lap and the anatomy he’s spent so long hiding exposed; all it takes is tucking a lock of hair behind Kurapika’s ear to convince him he doesn’t care what happens, so long as he can stay like this for now.

Just this once, he can stroke the golden hair that’s haunted his most vehemently denied fantasies, take hold of his never-lover’s hand and run his callused thumb across skin that’s like silk. This is the one beauty of this whole mess, he realizes: it’s the closest he’s ever been to Kurapika.


End file.
